Jeff Tweedy has operated as a one-man band in recent years, releasing three solo albums, touring as a solo act and publishing a witty warts-and-all memoir, Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back).
Yet there was never any doubt he’d return to Wilco, the shape-shifting rock group he’s led since 1994. Earlier this month, the Chicago band released Ode to Joy — its 11th album and its best work in ages — and hit the road for a tour that comes to Toyota Music Factory on Wednesday.
We talked to Tweedy about the new album, his previous trips to Dallas and why he thinks the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame is a whole lot of hooey.
The interview has been edited for clarity.
Most fans don’t think of Wilco as a political band, per se. But in new songs like “Before Us” and “Citizens,” it’s obvious you’re upset about everyday violence in our society and lies being told by various people in high places.
We’ve always tried to be engaged without being didactic or strident in our rhetoric. But in this era, there are a lot of oppressive things everyone is swimming around in. On the one hand, I don’t really want to give that much acknowledgement [to oppressors]. On the other hand, it would be inaccurate if what I’m working on did not reflect a certain state of mind and the exhaustion that comes with this constant, daily assault on reality. We’re all seeing what we’re seeing, and it needs to be apparent in the music we’re making.
One of your new lyrics that jumped out at me is the line “I’m worried about the way we’re all living.”
I mean, like, we’re transforming our bodies — our necks are going to be different in 100 years if we keep looking at our phones the way we do today. I think it’s pretty pervasive, and the technology is pretty far ahead of our emotional evolution and maybe even our physical evolution.
Speaking of phones, Wilco was one of the first bands to put signs outside concert halls asking fans to put away their phones and not take photos and videos during the show. Do you still do that?
No. I’m not going to die on that hill anymore. I’ve lost that battle.
It’s one of my least favorite things in the world, to have someone in the front row sticking a camera in my face, you know? I’ve tried to find some tolerance, and I’ve tried to examine what bothers me about it, and one of the things is I don’t like the way I look. I used to fear there was, you know, a YouTube channel devoted entirely to me forgetting lyrics, or looking like an ass or something. And I’ve come to the conclusion that nobody ever looks at these things again.
I think it’s rude to the people around you. I think it’s rude to the performers. But at the end of the day, it’s a pretty minor infraction in the grand scheme of things.
Wilco’s music tends to evolve from one album to the next. How did you challenge yourself on Ode to Joy?
I definitely feel like we concentrated on taking apart the traditional rock rhythm section. I mean, a lot of hip-hop records in the last three or four years have been way more exciting to me than a lot of rock records, and part of it is because they’re not mired in legacy.
The whole point is to always be pushing forward to find the new thing, and I think rock music has lost sight of that future. I don’t think rock music will ever gain that relevance back, certainly not by being self-conscious and more concerned with preserving its status than with liberation and freeing yourself.
I just think that in rock music, a drum kit is a drum kit, and that’s it. But on a hip-hop record, the drum could be, you know, a piece of paper being ripped, or a trumpet that’s been sequenced like a drum pattern. The whole point of art is to get you to see things that are there that you’ve ignored, and to see things that you didn’t know were there.
You played a solo acoustic show in March at the Majestic Theatre where two drunk fans kept yelling and singing loudly off-key. You ridiculed them and had fun with it, and they were eventually asked to leave the theater. As someone who’s quit drinking, what’s it like having to deal with that kind of thing?
There are times onstage where I feel like I’m [struggling] to figure out what the right move is to control the environment and not have the show devolve into something unpleasant. But I’ve never had a difficult time dispatching drunks. They’re like low-hanging fruit to me because you just present them to the audience. The reality that they’re missing [in their drunken state] is that you’re not playing for them. You’re playing with them. It’s not a movie. It’s not pre-programmed. It’s interactive. They’re a part of it.
It’s been almost 25 years since Wilco released its debut album, which means you’re eligible for induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Is that something you ever think about?
I have a tough time picturing that happening. There are tens of thousands of artists that [should] be ahead of us that aren’t even in the discussion. In general, I think it’s jive, and I think it’s a money-making boondoggle for some people, and sort of a tax scam for the people of Cleveland. That’s how I feel about it.
Wilco played Trees in 1996 when there was a ton of buzz surrounding your second album, Being There. That night, you played a wonderfully tongue-in-cheek version of the Shirelles’ “Will You Love Me Tomorrow.” All these years later, do you still worry fans will lose interest in the band?
I do remember covering that song, but I wasn’t thinking “Will you still love us if we’re no longer a buzz band?” It was more like, “Will you still love me after you see how goofy I am and how I’m not-too-completely-together as a person.” [Laughs]
I’m fine with the idea that fans jump off and find other things, and I think there is a distinct likelihood that as a band gets older, you have some gentle decline [in audience size]. But I don’t have any intentions of surrendering to that. Every time I make a record, I’m invigorated by the notion that we can reach out and connect with someone new. We always have something to prove. We always feel energized by people betting against us.
Wilco and opening act Molly Sarlé perform Wednesday at 7:30 p.m. at Toyota Music Factory, 300 W. Las Colinas Blvd, Irving. www.livenation.com